


things unspoken

by stylinsoncity



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Smut, Pining, Unrequited Love, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinsoncity/pseuds/stylinsoncity
Summary: he wants to say it. he’s waited his whole life to say it. but how do you tell your childhood best friend you want them?





	things unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> here’s another one from my unbetaed, unfinished archive. i think I’d planned for this to be a much longer work somehow. i spent a few days working on it and i hope you enjoy! H/L are American here, which is a first for me (and probably a last lol).
> 
> should mention I’m a little wine drunk, so who knows if this is even coherent?

He doesn’t actually want to call him. His first instinct is to call Gemma, but she’s been in San Francisco for about a week covering a story for her school’s newspaper. His second choice would be Niall but he’s too drunk and curled too comfortably around Zayn in one of the rooms upstairs. Liam is passed out on the couch and doesn’t have a way of getting them home even if he could bear to stand for two seconds. That leaves Harry with no other options except one.

Except him.

Harry wants to go home is the thing. He’s been under the pretense all night that he was hitting it off with Riley, only to find him on bended knee in the bathroom with Spenser. He’s drunk and hungry, and desperate for his own bed. Not to mention this party stopped being deserving of the title hours ago.

It’s better to say he needs to go home.

So, he dials the number, waits nervously while it rings, and nearly hangs up when the person on the other line answers with a sleepily uttered “Haz?”

Harry takes a breath. “Hey, Louis,” he says, too cheerfully. Another breath. “Sorry to call so late.”

“No, it’s alright,” Louis replies. “You okay?”

His voice is raspy like he’s just woken up, warm like Harry’s favorite sweater, and full of enough unfettered concern to start that familiar stirring in Harry’s chest.

Harry picks at a hole in his jeans. “I’m actually at this party.”

“Sounds like you’re having a blast,” Louis says dryly.

“About that,” Harry says, laughing. He pushes his slightly sweaty fringe away from his eyes. “I need a ride home.”

Immediately, he hears the rustling of bed sheets on the other end. “Where are you?”

“You know Ian?”

“McGregor?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It’s at his place.”

“Alright, Cupcake,” Louis says. Harry can hear the smile in his voice, pictures it spreading across his face, slow as honey. The endearment is a relic from the season Harry had his most prominent growth spurt. Louis came back from school to find him a head taller. He’d stared at Harry with narrowed eyes for the duration of his stay. He made sure to stand on tippy toes whenever they were beside each other. He flicked and poked Harry’s biceps and asked if he was on steroids. And then he’d resigned and hoisted his white flag in the way only Louis Tomlinson could manage with a snide ‘you’re still a cupcake to me’ and so it goes.

“I’ll be there in ten,” he says.

#

By the time Harry gets his shoes on, takes a piss, and says goodbye to Liam, there isn’t a second left to mentally prepare himself for the drive home. Just as he sits down on the front porch, Louis’ blue pick-up eases up to the curb. The front passenger window lowers as Harry hops up and approaches the car, lifting his hand to wave.

“Hello there,” Louis says, looking amused.

“Please spare me,” Harry says, climbing into the passenger seat.

Louis laughs, shifting his car into gear. Harry takes the opportunity to let his gaze slide to him again and then slide down the length of him. He’s wearing [a red and black plaid shirt](https://lovelace-media.imgix.net/getty/526319740.jpg) with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing all those tattoos Harry has imagined tracing with his fingertips. He has a snapback atop his head, leaving just the dark brown ends of his hair exposed and touching the base of neck. He smells good. He smells the way Harry remembers. Even from the distance across the center console, he picks up the scent of detergent from his clean clothes and faintly, the cigarettes he smokes every now and then, particularly during the school year when he’s anxious and stressed.

The last time Harry saw him was five months ago, right before Louis left for the second semester of his junior year. It happened in passing, as Louis finished loading up his truck and prepared for the drive back to UCLA. He’d been wearing a large sweatshirt that day. His hair loose and falling over his forehead, tossed by a late January breeze. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold. He was in a hurry, desperate for the warmth of his car. And then he spotted Harry, standing on the front porch just next door. Bean, their big Australian shepherd, tugged impatiently on his leash, but Harry was frozen there, watching Louis watch him. And then Louis waved. With his heart rabbiting, Harry waved back, watched Louis climb into his car and drive off.

Seeing him now, not a thing has changed. Louis is still the cute older boy next door and Harry is still the fool in love with him.

“Not feeling sick, are you?” Louis glances at him.

Harry shakes his head. He’s trying not to talk too much, knowing that he’s drunk and his filter is essentially nonexistent.

“Hungry?”

“A little,” Harry says.

“McDonald’s?”

“Sure.”

“McDonald’s it is then,” Louis says.

Harry looks at him again, just in time to see Louis lick his top lip. He looks away. Honestly, it’s the stubble that does him in every time. He swears one summer Louis went away to baseball camp and came back with an actual beard and Harry nearly died. He might avoid turning loopy around Louis if not for the stubble. And maybe the freckles too. His eyes, as well, but that’s a given. His mouth also, but this too goes without saying.

It’s best that Harry not look at him at all.

“He’s so quiet tonight,” Louis murmurs. “So pensive.”

Harry smiles, crosses his arms and stares out his passenger window.

“What could be on his mind, I wonder,” Louis muses. “What scheme is Harry Styles concocting at this very moment…? The world may never know.”

Harry looks at him. “Are you done?”

“I’m just getting started,” Louis says, grinning. He’s beautiful. Harry can’t even look at him. He stops looking at him. “Seriously, what are you thinking about?”

Harry shrugs. “Just tired. Party sucked.”

Louis lowers the volume on his radio. His fingers are nimble and delicate and beautiful. Everything about him, really. “Did Niall and Liam go with you?”

“They did. And then Niall abandoned me for his boyfriend, and Liam passed out on a couch,” Harry says.

“Didn’t know Niall was seeing anyone.”

“Yeah, you know Zayn?”

Louis nods. “I do,” he says. “Good for them. How about you?”

Harry looks at him, even though he shouldn’t. “What about me?”

“No boyfriend for you?” Louis asks, brows lifted. “Or girlfriend, maybe?”

Harry shakes his head. “No one for me,” he says. He lifts one foot up to the car seat and pulls his knee close to his chest. “You?”

Louis rubs his scruffy chin. “Nope. I was seeing this guy four months ago, but only for two weeks. Then there was another guy I thought was interested but after spring break, we lost touch. I don’t have time for a relationship anyway.”

He’s a genius, that’s why. As if Louis wasn't already irresistible to the known world, he’d somehow managed to be unbelievably sexy and ridiculously smart. Top of his class since forever. King of the debate team. Wiz on the soccer field. He played piano and guitar, had a voice like an angel that Harry was fortunate enough to witness on rare camping trips, and wrote songs in his spare time. But he was studying biochemical engineering at UCLA with hopes of one day working at NASA and perhaps even jetting into space.

Harry was far from an anomaly. The list of poor, miserable people wanting to hold Louis down was ever-growing. No one ever “lost touch” with Louis. Louis lost touch with them. He just didn’t have the time, too busy conquering the world.

“Not too late to find a summer fling,” Harry says, because he’d absolutely be up for the position.

“We’ll see,” Louis says with a soft laugh. They pull up to the McDonald’s drive-thru window. The intercom hums for a second and then a weary attendant greets them. Harry only ever eats McDonald’s when he ends up with Louis and he always has exactly what Louis is having: a double cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake.

“I got it,” Louis says, when Harry starts digging into his pocket for change.

“Are you sure?”

Louis hands the woman waiting there a ten-dollar bill. “It’s not like it costs a fortune, H,” he says. He tosses a wink his way. “Promise I’ll take you to a five-star spot next time.”

Jesus. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Harry mutters.

“I never do,” Louis assures him.

#

“So Gem told me you decided on a school,” Louis says, crumpling his burger wrapper and tossing it into the backseat. “California State, right?”

Harry nods, sipping on his milkshake. “It’s not UCLA but it’ll do.”

It’s also close to Louis’ campus, meaning he’ll see him more often once he starts.

“It doesn’t have to be UCLA,” Louis says. “It’s a great school. And you’ll be pretty close to me too.”

Harry glances at him. “You and Gem both.”

“Yeah, it’ll be sick. It’s about time you joined us. Being two musketeers is no fun.”

Harry smiles around his straw.

Louis always knew when Harry felt excluded. He’d make obvious efforts to include him when they were kids. He and Gemma were both two years older and Louis was Gemma’s best friend before he was Harry’s. Being younger meant he couldn't be in on every adventure they had, but it was never two musketeers to Louis, always three.

“Should be all packed, right?” Louis asks.

“Almost,” Harry says.

“And how are we feeling mentally?”

Harry snorts. “Fine, I guess. I’m ready to leave home honestly.”

“What about all your friends?”

“So many questions,” Harry says, but it’d be a lie to say he didn’t like having Louis’ attention. “They’re all leaving home too. Liam is going to the same school as me. Niall’s going to Arizona State, I think. Zayn might be doing the same. And I’ll see them every now and then. It’s everyone else that I want to get away from, you know? Like people at school.”

Louis lifts his brows. “You mean boys?”

“Sure,” Harry says. “High school boys can’t help being a disappointment.”

Truly, it’s not their fault that they can’t be Louis.

“I remember those days,” Louis says, sagely.

“Okay, granddad,” Harry says with a snort. “You never had any trouble. Everyone was obsessed with you.” Including Harry. High school when Louis was there was torture. Watching him walk the halls, watching him date other people, watching everyone fawn over him -- absolute torture, made worse by Louis ruffling his hair when he passed by or, a few times, referring to Harry as his “little brother.”

“Yeah, but not the right people. Clearly. Because I’m still single,” Louis says, sliding a cigarette and his lighter from his shirt pocket. “Anyway, something’s obviously wrong with the world if you’re still single.”

Harry looks away as Louis sticks his cigarette into his mouth. “There was this guy at the party tonight named Riley. I thought we were getting close. And Then I saw him with someone else.”

Louis shakes his head as he lights up. “His loss,” he says, exhaling smoke. “You’re a catch, you know that. Anyone with sense can see that.”

Harry can’t respond to that so he doesn’t.

“Don’t let that asshole get to you,” Louis mumbles, stuffing his lighter in his pocket.

Harry adjusts his fringe. “He didn’t. He’s not really—” He hesitates. “There’s another guy that I actually really like.”

“Yeah?” Louis questions, brows arching. “Who?”

“I can’t say.” Harry jabs his milkshake with his straw. “I shouldn’t even talk about it, honestly.”

“I know him then?”

Harry doesn’t answer that either.

“It’s not one of my friends, is it?” Louis asks. He turns fully toward Harry. “Please tell me it isn’t. They’re all undeserving.”

Harry laughs. “Not one of your friends, no.”

Louis looks relieved, but only for a second. His brows furrow as he thinks. “Does he like you back?”

Harry shakes his head slowly. “He just thinks of me as a friend.”

Louis sighs. “Why waste your time on guys like that? If he's too stupid to want you back, he's not worth it.”

Harry wants to laugh at the irony of Louis calling himself stupid.

“He’s definitely worth it,” Harry says. “He’s not stupid. He’s just…unavailable.”

“So he’s got someone already?”

“I hope not,” Harry says, turning his high school class ring on his finger. It’s a nervous habit. He should stop talking. “I don’t know. He’s just not available to _me_. I can’t say any more than that.”

Louis pulls a knee up to his chest and smokes his cigarette, looking at Harry like he’s speaking a different language. “I still say you deserve better,” he decides. “I mean, how great is he really? What do you like about him? Tell me that, at least.”

“He’s funny,” Harry begins tentatively, pursing his lips as he thinks. “He always makes me laugh. And he listens. Sometimes I feel like no one does except for when I’m with him. And he’s brilliant, but when I talk to him, he never makes me feel like an idiot.”

He glances at Louis and finds something curious in his expression, something that makes Harry’s breath lock up in his throat. He should stop talking. He’s said more than enough already.

“He’s never around as much as I’d like for him to be,” Harry says. “He leaves for school...or something, and I miss him when he’s gone. But I can’t tell him that. Just like I can’t tell him how I feel. I don’t want to ruin things-- What we have already, it means too much to ruin it. He means the world to me.”

His voice gets all raspy then and he stops speaking altogether.

Louis just looks at him while his cigarette burns out between his fingers. They stare at each other for too long. The silence too deafening. The air too thick.

“I really should go,” Harry says, clearing his throat. “It’s late and I’m exhausted.”

Louis looks away. “Yeah, me too.” He tosses his cigarette through the open window. They climb out of the car, shutting their doors softly. Louis steps onto the sidewalk beside Harry and they look at each other again. Something feels different.

Harry swore never to do this. He’s always whining in his head, or even just now, about how he doesn’t want to ruin things and look how close he’s come.

The thing is that feels good. It feels like the plunge of a rollercoaster. It’s unsafe and uncertain to a degree, but the thrill is hard to pass up.

“Good night, H,” Louis says. “Sleep tight.”

“Night, Lou,” Harry says. “Thanks for saving me.”

Louis laughs. “Anytime.”

Harry watches him turn away, pushing his hands into his pockets. There’s warmth rushing all through his body. He starts up his own driveway without looking back. He doesn’t open his curtains when he’s inside, although he peeks. The light in Louis’ bedroom is on and his curtains are pulled back slightly. Louis removes his flannel and his baseball cap. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up the way Harry wishes he could. He pulls off his shirt next and Harry looks for a moment too long, just managing to turn off the light before Louis glances toward his window.

#

A whole day passes like normal. Harry spends a good portion of the day in bed, reading or scrolling through Twitter. He does some chores. Walks Bean. Takes a shower. When he’s dressed in denim shorts, he sits in bed again, at first just staring at the ceiling, and then for the millionth time he glances over at The Tomlinson’s. And there’s Louis washing his car in the drive.

Harry sits upright, pressing his palms into the edge of his bed.

No matter how he tries he can’t stop thinking about the way Louis had looked at him or how close he’d come to letting everything go. He’d felt free and at the same time, bound to Louis by the heat of his gaze, like maybe there was a part of him that already knew, a part of him that wanted this too.

It’s all a shot in the dark, but Harry fires. He stands and forces himself out of the house and across the yard.

Louis is wearing a T-shirt the color of his eyes. He leans over the hood of his truck, wiping the exterior down with a damp rag. Harry doesn’t know what he wants to look at more, his eyes moving from one point to the next like a pinball — Louis’ beautiful hands are soapy. His legs and his ass clad in tight blue jeans. He can’t see Harry approaching because the peak of his baseball cap shields his vision.

Harry takes a breath. “Hey,” he says, sliding his hands into his back pockets.

Louis pushes his cap upward a bit. “Hi.” He huffs a laugh. “Did you lose all of your shirts?”

Harry looks down at himself. “No, I kind of just forgot to put one on.”

Louis laughs again. “Maybe you should finish up here,” he says, nodding to his car. “You’re kind of dressed for the part.”

“Nah, I think I’d need a bikini.”

“That, I’d love to see.” Louis starts wiping the car down again after sparing Harry another glance. And then another after a few seconds have passed and Harry’s just standing there. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I just need to clear my head. Still just kind of stressed about school and stuff, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” Louis says. “We could go for a run later. Always helps me. Or if Gem’s back in time, we could go see a movie?”

“Maybe.” Harry shrugs. “I was thinking maybe a drive, actually? Like just me and you?”

Louis looks at him again. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Louis balls the rag up in his hands, wringing it out. “Where to?”

“Anywhere.”

Louis licks his top lip. “Yeah, okay.” He wipes his forehead with his forearm. “You have to put on a shirt, though.”

Harry laughs. “Right. I’ll be back.”

When he returns Louis is just finishing with his car. Harry climbs into the passenger seat, drying his sweaty palms on his shorts. He flips through radio stations, while Louis wraps of the hose and grabs his wallet from inside. When he climbs in beside Harry, a tendril of hair has escaped his hat and falls into his eyes. It’s dark brown, feathery and curls artfully at his cheekbone. He tucks it away, shooting a look at Harry who promptly stops staring.

Harry hasn’t thought any of this through.

“Should I just start driving then?” Louis asks.

“Sounds good to me,” Harry says,letting his forearm dangle from the window.

“You’re on radio duty,” Louis says, pulling away from the curb. “And so far you’re doing terribly.”

Harry rolls his eyes and changes the station again, until he’s found classic rock.

They’re headed to the coast with no particular destination in mind. Long winding roads through the hilly terrain feature a clear view of the mountains, the valley below, and a crystal blue sky. It reminds Harry of Louis’ eyes. It also reminds him that he’s love drunk and miserable.

“So what sparked this need for escape?” Louis asks, turning the radio down a bit.

“I told you,” Harry says. “It’s school and stuff.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been feeling that way for a while. What made you think to just drive? To nowhere?”

“Buzzfeed,” Harry says with a smile. “I read an article. Told me to be adventurous and take a roadtrip.”

“Kind of underwhelming.”

“Think you’re just a tough critic.”

Louis gets this boyish little smile on his face. “That’s fair. Do you want to talk about it? Whatever’s on your mind?”

“Not yet.”

Louis mercifully leaves it at that.

They just drive and drive. They order burritos at a roadside taqueria and then wander across the street to buy fresh pineapple and mango from one of those pop-up farmer’s markets. They get back on the road, their sunglasses donned while they feast on their fruit.

“How about Venice?” Louis asks. “Haven’t been there in a while.”

Harry nods. “Sounds good.”

And so Louis drives them there. He’s nodding his head the music and tapping his fingers to the beat. And the whole time Harry just thinks everything he does is beautiful. Every movement is lovely and special and so Louis. So particular to this boy. There’s no one else like him.

Venice Beach is crowded as usual. It’s a nice summer day and so that’s expected. They don’t find parking right by the beach. But Louis finds somewhere to stick his car on one of the side streets, facing the water. He removes his baseball cap then and runs his hands through his hair. He leans back in his seat. Harry does the same. The cool California air tickles his toes, runs up along his legs and arms, and tosses his hair about his face. Harry glances at him for the millionth time, thinking his shades will cover him, but he thinks Louis sees him. He thinks so because his lips twitch.

“You know, I’m surprised,” Louis says. “That school is freaking you out this much. I’ve always thought of you as the type to just kind of charge right into things.”

“That’s definitely you,” Harry says.

“Yeah but you too,” Louis says. “I think so, at least. You’ve always been brave.”

Harry takes a breath, staring at his hands in his lap, then out at the ocean. He has to just go for it. The worst that could happen-- Well, there’s a lot, probably. But it’s a shot in the dark and all that. It always has been.

“I think,” Harry says. “If I were really brave, I would have told that guy how I feel by now.”

Louis’ Adam’s apple bobs. “You say it like it’s too late.”

“It’s not really. It’s just terrifying like I said before. The thought of fucking things up—”

“You can’t know you’d fuck anything up before you try,” Louis says. He pulls both knees up close to his chest and rubs at the smiley face he’s drawn on the toe of his Adidas. “That’s how all things are in life. You just have to try.”

“And if you get yourself hurt?” Harry asks.

“You pick yourself up and you keep moving,” Louis says. “That’s the best you can do.” He takes a heavy breath. “But it’s like I said. I think anyone who turns you down, who doesn’t at least consider trying, is an idiot.”

Those words are heavy. So heavy it’s like the earth sinks under them. “Anyone?” Harry asks.

Louis’ eyes flicker toward him beneath the cover of his lashes. Harry’s not supposed to see it but he does.

“What’s your favorite thing about this guy?” Louis asks, which is an obvious diversion.

“I have too many favorite things.”

“Give me the most notable ones.”

“His eyes, his smile, his freckles,” Harry offers.

Louis snorts. “Boring.”

Harry makes the mistake of looking at him. His eyes settle on Louis’ mouth and he would honestly give anything to kiss him. He’s so close, maybe, to making that happen. Whatever bravery it was Louis spoke of, it comes in waves, filling Harry up, until it’s flowing through his veins, into his mouth, forcing the words out.

“Recently, it’s that whenever I need him, he’s always there,” Harry says. And the smug, little smile Louis was wearing slackens. “Even if it’s three a.m. and I’ve gotten myself stuck at a party.”

Immediately Harry wants to take the words back, knowing he’s crossed that terrifying point of no return. In the car is just silence and the distant white noise of the ocean. And he and Louis are just looking at each other.

“Well alright then,” Louis says.

“So could I kiss you maybe?” Harry asks.

Louis covers his face with his hands. “Harry—” he groans.

“Or not. I don’t know. I thought I’d throw it out there,” Harry babbles.

Louis laughs, dragging his hands down his face. His cheeks are slightly pink, which might be a good thing. Harry can’t remember ever making Louis blush before. It’s a source of momentary pride, in spite of the rejection coming. It’s definitely coming. And Harry feels mostly sick, but still, relieved.

“Should I not have said anything?” Harry wonders. “You told me to be brave.”

“I did,” Louis says. “And you were. I just—”

“Don’t feel the same way,” Harry finishes.

Louis looks at him, his jaw clenched.

Harry’s done it. He’s ruined everything. Everything is over and it’s Harry’s fault and he’s going to die alone now in a cabin buried in the woods on an island because he can never show his face again to anyone. Especially not Louis.

“I had no idea,” Louis says. “Until yesterday. I might’ve guessed it then. But I wouldn’t have said all those things if I’d known, Harry. ‘Cause I get it now.”

Harry runs his hand through his hair. “We can just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“No, we can’t,” Louis says. He looks at Harry. “Remember that summer I came back from school after my freshman year? I was swamped with championships and finals and it was the first time I’d spent that much time away from you. And I came back and you looked so different. When we were younger, I could trick myself into thinking I didn’t feel anything. And I could pretend you were my little brother or some shit, but then you grew up and you started dating and I think the only way I survived any of that was by staying away and being at school and not having to see you every day.”

Harry sits, wide-eyed and speechless, his tongue feeling numb like the rest of his body.

“Harry, you’re fucking gorgeous. And you’re funny and kind and you send me letters. I’ve got them all stacked on my bookshelf at school—” He pushes his fingers through his fringe, drags his hands down his face again. “How could I not feel something?”

“Why does it sound like you’re turning me down then?” Harry asks all in a breathless rush.

“Because I get it, what you said about this meaning too much. It’s different if it’s a guy I’ve just met, but you? There’s a reason I never said anything.”

“But this changes everything,” Harry says. “I don’t care anymore if- I know how you are with people. I know you’re too busy being you and you don’t make enough time for relationships. And I know it’s not guaranteed to work. But you’re saying you like me too?”

“Yes.”

“So, can I kiss you now then?”

Louis sighs loudly, heavily. “Again, how can you think I’d say no?”

In spite of everything, the answer surprises Harry momentarily. He unbuckles his seatbelt, nearly forgetting it was still buckled in his haste. And he reaches for Louis, sliding a hand around the back of his neck. He feels Louis’ Adam’s apple jump and runs his thumb over it, his eyes darting about his face.

“That was a yes,” Louis says.

So Harry kisses him.

Just once.

And pulls back.

Louis lifts his brows, his lips curving. “That was very PG. Disney-approved.”

“I was just getting started,” Harry says and kisses him again, his mouth melting like butter into Louis’ smile. He’s dreamt so often of this moment. Of showing Louis how much he’s learned over the past few years, how much he’s grown, how relentlessly he kisses now, how easily he could hold him down.

He cups Louis’ chin, his thumb against his bottom lip, and presses his tongue into his mouth. And Louis just takes it. All of it. He lets Harry kiss him until he’s satisfied, although the point of satisfaction never comes. Kissing Louis only makes Harry want to kiss him more.

When he does pull back, it’s because he needs to breathe.

“Point made,” Louis says, refusing to look him in the eye.

“I’m still not done.”

Louis laughs, tilting his head back, his eyes narrowed. “Have you always looked at me like that? I feel like I would’ve noticed.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve already started undressing me in your head.”

“Oh.” Harry smiles. “I think…you probably just didn’t notice.”

“At least you’re honest.”

Harry runs his fingers through Louis’ hair touching his nape. “I think I’m being behaving pretty well, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“That I want to undress you,” Harry says.

Louis’ gaze moves across his face like he’s mapping him out, committing it all to memory. “And then what?”

“Touch you?” Harry drops his hand to Louis’ hip and slips just the tip of his finger beneath the hem of Louis’ shirt. He’s dissatisfied again by how little of Louis’ skin he can feel this way. He wants to spread his whole palm out on his body.

“And then…?”

“Should I give you my whole master plan?” Harry asks.

Louis snorts. “I’m sure it’s hardly a master plan, but sure. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” Harry says, squeezing his hip. “I’d like you out of these clothes. I’d like to touch you, bend you over in your bed and then in mine. Or we could do it like this, me on top of you. Or you could fuck me if you want. Preferably we’d go on a date at some point too.”

“Now he mentions a date,” Louis says. “Was beginning to think you just wanted me for sex.”

“Never,” Harry says. “Not just for sex.”

“We should go back,” Louis says.

Harry frowns, his nerves fraying again. “Why?”

“We should go back,” Louis repeats, turning the key in the ignition, “and then you should come over. And maybe come up to my room.”

Oh. “Oh,” Harry breathes. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Louis says. He draws a breath, lifting his baseball cap and puts it back on his head, and then he reverses the car out of its space. The drive back home is quieter. They glance at each other sparingly but even without their gazes meeting, Harry is hyper aware of Louis the whole way.

When they pull up to the house forty minutes later, finally Louis looks at him, plucking the keys from the ignition. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry says.

They climb out. Harry follows Louis to his front door, taking his hand as they step over the threshold. He takes a step too soon and bumps into him, laughs.

“Shh,” Louis says, laughing, securing his fingers around Harry’s wrist. “Someone might be home.”

Harry presses his forefinger to his mouth and follows him, his feet padding softly on the staircase, avoiding that one step that makes a lot of noise no matter what. He knows these stairs. Just like he knows Louis’ bedroom is the last door on the right.

Inside, everything is awash with sunlight, from Louis’ four poster bed littered with clothing to the desk in the corner where his laptop is open surrounded by textbooks (because he still studies religiously, even during breaks). Energy drinks, beer cans and empty Starbucks cups decorate the few empty spaces available. It’s an absolute mess, but it’s Louis’ mess and that makes it familiar.

Louis removes his baseball cap and sets it on the top shelf, ruffling his hair. Harry kicks off his shoes and hovers there by the door for a moment. And then they both crack smiles and climb onto the bed, slipping under the covers.

“I feel like a teenager again,” Louis says.

Harry scoffs. “You’re literally only twenty.”

“Yeah, but I feel fifteen. Like I kissed a boy for the first time or popped my first boner.”

Harry lifts the sheets and glances at Louis’ crotch. Louis bats at his hand.

“Is that how it happened?” Harry asks.

“My first boner? Nah. It’d have to be after a dream when I was a kid or something, right?”

“For me it was probably after a dream about you.”

Louis sighs. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m trying to do the noble, responsible thing here, which means not fucking my best friend’s baby brother. Knowing that you dream about me doesn’t help.”

Harry looks at his mouth as he says the word — “fucking” — and his dick literally twitches. “First of all, we’re best friends too,” he protests.

Louis’ smile is mushy and saccharine. “We are.”

“And I’m not a baby. I’m 18 and we’re only two years apart.”

“Yeah, but—“

“I don’t like noble or responsible,” Harry says. “And I dream about you almost every night. Sometimes about good things. Sometimes bad things. As in dirty things.”

“I figured,” Louis says, rolling his eyes.

“Sometimes,” Harry begins, “We’re here in your room and you undress me. And we get into bed. When I was younger, I used to dream about you holding me down right here. Sometimes, lately, I think about holding you down-”

Louis presses his thumb against Harry’s mouth, silencing him. “Your sister is going to kill me.”

Harry grins. “No, she won’t. I used to ask about you all the time. I’d get weird when she told me you were seeing someone. She figured it out already.”

“I’m going to kill her,” Louis says. “Surprised she didn’t tell me. She lets everything slip when she’s drunk.”

“I made her swear on Cora’s life,” Harry says.

“No! Not Cora,” Louis says with a gasp.

“It had to be done,” Harry says, although he does regret putting the cat’s life on the line.

“Still,” Louis runs his thumb across Harry’s dimple and then his mouth again. “I might’ve kissed you sooner if she had. If she’d told me...”

Harry kisses his thumb. And once Louis’ gaze is on his mouth, he takes advantage of it. He opens his mouth and tucks his lips over Louis’ thumb and sucks just once. “Kiss me now.”

When Harry was nine, an earthquake rattled LA during the latter end of a sleepover in Louis’ basement. The sun was just seeping in through the blinds. Gemma was asleep on Harry’s opposite side. And Harry thought Louis had slept through it too. Because quakes — typically minor ones — happened often enough for people to feel used to them.

But then Louis had turned over and the sun struck his eyes just right, made them glow like sea glass.

“Did you feel that?” he’d asked, meeting Harry’s eyes full on.

And the earth seemed to shake again.

Like it shakes now, when Louis licks into his mouth and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Did you lock the door?” Harry breathes.

“Who do you think I am?” Louis replies as he pushes himself up and slings a leg over Harry’s hips.

Harry makes an animal kind of noise, a sound he’d be embarrassed about if not for Louis’ ass cradled against his crotch. Harry thinks he could mount the world on his back like Atlas. He runs his hands up Louis’ thighs and back down, up again and across his back. He plays with the hem of Louis’ shirt which prompts Louis to lift it off.

“Fuck—” Harry mutters, losing his tongue in Louis’ mouth again. They kiss until they’re both breathless and his lips feel a bit numb and his chin tingles from the brush of Louis’ facial hair.

“Get this off,” Louis says, tugging Harry’s shirt.

Harry yanks it off clumsily, getting an arm stuck. Louis helps him. “You’re a mess,” he says. And yeah, Harry does feel a bit like a mess. He’s Atlas but with sweaty, trembling fingers and a racing heart.

“You want to slow down?” Louis asks.

Harry shakes his head. “No.”

Louis holds his gaze for a second. “Good,” he says. And then with a parting kiss, he descends Harry’s body, leaving kisses in his wake.

“This isn’t just sex, right?” Harry asks, his eyes on the ceiling. Because he can’t look at him when he’s this honest or anxious or scared. “Assuming that’s what we’re doing.”

Louis peers up at him. “I’m about to give you a blow job, yes.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut for a second. “I’m not gonna last very long, just so you know.”

“That’s alright,” Louis says, smiling as he unbuckles Harry’s shorts. “And no, this isn’t just sex, Harry. I usually insist on a date before sex.” He tugs the waistband of Harry’s briefs down a bit. “Understand that you’re special and I’ve wanted this for a while.”

And then he exposes Harry’s cock and takes a lick of him.

“Fucking God,” Harry whispers, curling his fingers in Louis’ soft hair. “I love you.”

Louis pops his mouth free noisily, drawing a breath. He looks at him inquisitively.

“Is it weird for me to say that right now?” Harry wonders.

“I don’t know,” Louis says.

“I’ve never known the difference between loving and being in love with you, to be honest,” Harry says. “I think I feel everything there is to feel.”

Louis rests his head against Harry’s thigh, pressing a smile into the skin there, followed by a kiss. He kisses him again, except this time on the damp head of his cock. “Not this though,” he says, wrapping his lips around him. Curling a hand around Harry’s thigh and spreading the other out on his stomach, he begins to suck again with just enough pressure to draw it out and drive Harry crazy.

Harry says it over and over now that he feels he can. ‘I love you,” breathed towards the ceiling. ‘I love you,” muttered through gritted teeth. ‘I love you” muffled by his face buried in a pillow.

“Louis,” Harry says, jolted by the sudden encroach of an orgasm.

Louis pulls off entirely and climbs back into Harry’s lap. Harry fumbles with his fly, yanking his jeans open. He takes a second to just feel the weight of Louis’ cock in his hand. He gives him a squeeze, watching Louis’ eyelids flutter. He loves that. He feels less like a noodle now and again like Atlas.

“Come on,” Louis says, wrapping his fingers around Harry. He starts to jack him, leaning close and pushing their mouths together again.

It doesn’t take long for either of them, but somehow it feels slow. Their hands don’t race on each other’s cocks. They’re patient and gentle with each other, which is perhaps what makes it too much.

When they come, it’s with their mouths still connected and their sweaty bodies pressed together and it’s sticky and steamy between them which Harry also loves.

He wraps his arms around Louis’ torso so he doesn’t roll away. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Louis pants, his face buried in Harry’s neck.

“Any chance you’d consider being my boyfriend?” Harry asks after it’s been silent long enough. Louis pushes himself up a bit, folding his arms atop Harry’s chest.

“I know you said you don’t have time for relationships, but I thought I’d throw it out there,” Harry says, “That I’d like to take you on a date if possible—“

Louis laughs. “You’re adorable.”

“No, I’m not. You’re supposed to say I’m sexy.”

“That too,” Louis says. “All those people I didn’t have time for had something in common, you know?”

“What’s that?”

“None of them were you.”

Harry smiles until his cheeks hurt. He gets a giddy rush of energy and crushes Louis in a hug that Louis protests and grumbles and giggles about. Harry rolls them over and ends up half on top Louis, half off.

“This is nice,” he says, smiling down at him.

Louis smiles back. “I can be a handful.”

“Sounds fun,” Harry says.

“Last chance to back out.”

Harry pretends to contemplate the offer. “Not happening.”

#

fin.


End file.
